


Beast of Burden

by ididthatonce



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6511066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididthatonce/pseuds/ididthatonce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ra's Al Ghul kills Oliver, Thea is left alone and grieving.  She is looking for some kind of control in her life, and finds it with her ex-boyfriend Roy.  She has one simple rule: at Verdant, he is her slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in a universe where Oliver stays dead once he is killed by Ra's Al Ghul. Everything up to this point is the same.
> 
> Domme!Thea/sub!Roy has been stuck in my head for ages, so thank you all for allowing my plot bunnies to come to fruition.
> 
> Smut begins in chapter 2.

I first learned about grief when I was six and the family cat died. His name was Ranger, and he was a solid black ball of fluff who also happened to be my best friend. He slept on the foot of my bed every night, and would wake me up before school each morning by tapping my nose with his dainty paws. His favorite food was roasted chicken, specifically the rosemary chicken that our nanny Tia would make on Friday nights. Ranger would sit next to me and meow as loudly as he could until I snuck him a piece of meat. One Friday night, he laid down next to me, but didn’t make a sound. I looked down at him, and saw that he wasn’t breathing. I panicked, and my dad asked if I wanted to eat dinner in my room with him. It wasn’t a question but a demand. I’m sure Dad explained the cycle of life to me, but I honestly couldn’t tell you what he said. All I know is that I cried myself to sleep that night with an understanding that Ranger was gone and never coming back.

It never got easier.

I was a wreck for two weeks when I found out that my father had died and I thought that my brother had, too. I cried almost the entire time, sobbing and snotting my pillow, clutching the teddy bear Ollie had bought me in San Diego when we visited the zoo as kids. Mom literally forced me to take a shower, physically picking my dehydrated body out of my bed and placing me, fully-clothed, into the shower. I ran out of tears before I stopped grieving.

When my mother died, I was angrier than I was sad. I was older, more mature, and more understanding of the criminal circumstances that led to her death. I lashed out, fighting with everyone I knew, drowning my sorrows in top-shelf vodka and between the legs of any man I could find. I was still a wreck, but a different kind of wreck. I was a rage-filled disaster; a bomb about to explode.

The bomb went off when my brother died for real.

I was asleep when I got the call from Laurel. I actually missed the call twice, but answered it the third time that “I Got You, Babe,” our karaoke song of choice, screeched from my nightstand. I answered it with a noise that I hoped sounded like a “hello.”

“Thea, sweetie, how are you?” Laurel asked, more formal than our normal conversations. She had called me periodically ever since my father’s death, checking in. Looking back, it was one of those things she did to hide her own grief, taking care of others so she wouldn’t have to face her own demons. She kept the calls up after Oliver came back, a vestigial tradition from a previous life.

“Sleeping.” I admitted. “Is everything okay?”

I could hear her holding something back over the line. “No. Something is very wrong, Thea.” She had used my name twice in thirty seconds. It was going to be something serious.

I had one question, and dreaded the answer. “Is it Oliver?”

Her voice cracked as she told me. “Yes. He’s dead.”

It was surreal burying my brother for the second time. I had already grieved Ollie, gone through all the stages, and it seemed gratuitous to do it again. Laurel kept an arm around me at the funeral, my only source of support. Her father shook my hand, a gruff, “So sorry for your loss” muttered in my direction after the ceremony. Half-smiles and platitudes surrounded me, hiding the inescapable fact that I had lost my entire family, my childhood home, and our fortune, all within a ten-year span. I was as alone as a person could be, and I wasn’t even legally allowed to rent a car in most states.

The preacher shook my hand as he departed from the ceremony, telling me that God was with me and that I was welcome in his grief support group at any time. I smiled weakly. I had handled enough death on my own, what was one more? And who could possibly support me in the loss of father, mother, brother, and so many others in such a short time span? I thanked him politely and met Laurel at her car. She had offered to drive me to and from the funeral, and I couldn’t refuse, especially when I didn’t trust myself to be behind the wheel of a car.

Felicity joined us in the parking lot. I had met her a few times and knew that she and Oliver had had some kind of sexual tension that had gone unfulfilled, but not much more. We weren’t close. She seemed to know Laurel well, so I smiled at their jokes and tried my best to keep up with their conversation. When they drove past my apartment, I opened my mouth to tell them that they had missed my stop, but Felicity cut me off.

“Thea, we have something to tell you.” She stated, looking over her spot in the passenger’s seat at me. “Something that’s going to be hard to hear.”

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, trying not to sound as nervous as I felt.

“It’s going to be okay.” Laurel responded, not answering the question. She pulled into the parking lot of Verdant, and I was filled with more questions that I knew how to ask. She continued driving, and made her way to the back entrance, closed off since the flood when Oliver owned the club. Things began falling into place, although I didn’t know exactly what the end result would be. 

“The basement didn’t flood, did it?” I asked, hoping that my hunch was wrong.

Felicity nodded. Then she added, “It didn’t. That’s what we want to show you.”

Laurel parked, and the car slammed into place. She apologized, “Emergency brake is acting up.” None of us laughed, even though the comment was an apparent joke. We stayed silent as we walked up to the back door, boarded up with plywood and a large “Danger: Keep Out” sign. Felicity removed the wood barrier and entered a code into a keypad I had never even noticed was there. A loud beep alerted us that the code was correct, and the door clicked open. The lights inside flipped on automatically and everything made sense when I saw what was inside.

“The Arrow.” I mumbled.

Both women nodded. “Oliver is the Arrow.” Laurel stated. “Was.” She corrected herself, and sniffled at what could have been an allergy or could have been sadness.

I nodded. “That makes a lot of sense. He was always running off, lying, giving me awful excuses about where he was going.” My stomach dropped as I said the words, being hit again with the reality of my brother’s death. “Oliver was the Arrow.” I repeated to myself.

Laurel stood silently, clutching her purse in front of her. Felicity had placed herself in a desk chair in front of a computer. It was turned off and the screen was blank and cold. She seemed at ease in the chair, one leg folded beneath her. She opened her mouth, but I had too many questions.

“How did you guys know? For how long? Who else knew? Did Mom?” I spat out at once.

Laurel took a deep breath. “Felicity found out first. I found out a a few months ago. He had been doing this since he returned home. Only a handful of other people knew. Sara, Oliver’s bodyguard, Roy…”

“Roy knew?” I shouted. “And he didn’t tell me? And none of you told me?” I was screaming, angry at the betrayal from all around me.

“We know this is hard,” Felicity whispered. “But we wanted you to know now that he’s…”

“Fuck you.” I spat.

Laurel looked at Felicity and sighed, placing her eyes on me. “We know you’re angry. We expected you to be. But we can’t go back and change the past. Oliver kept this secret from a lot of people. We wanted to tell you.” She looked at Felicity, then back to me. “I wanted to tell you.” She admitted, “But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“Oliver was going to tell you once he got home.” Felicity confessed. “But he never got that chance. Obviously.”

“We know you need time to absorb this.” Laurel told me. “And we’re willing to give you as much time as you need.”

I snorted. “How did he die?” I asked in earnest. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” I added before they could answer.

Felicity sighed. “He fought Ra’s Al Ghul, the leader of the League of Assassins, and lost.”

“What on Earth is that?” I growled. I searched for a chair, a low table, anything that I could lean on. I settled on a glass case holding the infamous green hood that the Arrow...my brother… had worn.

Laurel replied, “A secret society that commits murders across the globe. Sara was a member.” I hadn’t heard her say Sara’s name since she died. Another death to grieve.

“And why would he fight someone involved in that?” I asked, still not fully comprehending what was happening.

“It’s complicated.” Felicity explained, rubbing her temples.

I looked around the room. “I’ve got nothing but fucking time.”

Laurel leaned on the back of Felicity’s chair. “Are you sure you want to know? You can’t close Pandora’s Box once it’s been open.”

I glared at her.

“It has to do with Sara’s death.” Laurel recited, apparently not needing an answer from me. Her voice was calm and solid, like she had been practicing what she was about to say for days. Probably since Ollie’s death, I realized. “Oliver took responsibility for her murder. He went to accept the punishment.”

My eyes burned. “He killed Sara?”

“No no no no no.” Felicity replied breathlessly. “He took responsibility for her death, but didn’t do it.”

My head was swimming. Things were getting more and more complicated. “I need a minute. Or like a week.”

Felicity nodded. “Laurel and I agreed that it only makes sense for you to have this room. The code to the door is Oliver’s birthday. Zero Five Sixteen Eighty-Five.” She stated coolly.

“Did he WANT to get found out?” I balked.

Felicity grinned weakly. “Honestly, I think half the time he did.”

We stood silently for what felt like the fifteenth time today, nobody wanting to be the first to speak. I finally decided to be the one.

“Thank you guys.” I grumbled. “I’m not mad at you, just frustrated. I specifically told Ollie not to fucking lie…” I trailed off. There was nothing to say.

Oliver Queen was dead.

He was the Arrow.

And everyone knew except me.


	2. Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thea re-opens Verdant after tragedy. Roy tries to make himself helpful. The two reconcile.
> 
> You want the smut? You get the smut.

I was going to kill Roy Harper.

There were a hundred reasons he was on my shit list. But three stood out. One, he knew my brother was the Arrow and never thought to tell me. Two, he showed up thirty minutes late for his shift at Verdant, leaving me to haul fourteen boxes of Smirnoff from the delivery truck into the storage closet. Third, and most importantly, when he did decide to show up, he looked so fuckable it was enraging.

He had never been particularly punctual. It was part of his roguish charm. It was normally not a problem: he would stay an extra half-hour after we closed, wiping down sticky tables and mopping up vomit in the bathroom. Shipments rarely showed up before he did, and he was always apologetic when he finally arrived. It wasn’t a problem, more like a small personality quirk.

Of course, today was the first day Verdant was open after Oliver’s death, so the circumstances were a little different.

My arms were sore when he came in. I was in the stockroom when I heard the front door slam shut. “Nice of you to show.” I shouted, my voice echoing off the cool concrete walls.

“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Overslept.” It was always his excuse. I lugged two handles of vodka out to the bar. I very nearly dropped them when I saw him. His hair was mussed and sticking up in every direction, giving him the appearance that he had literally just gotten out of bed. He was wearing my favorite shirt of his, a plaid button-down with reds and blues, sleeves rolled up showcasing his muscular forearms. The top two buttons were undone, the clean white collar of a t-shirt sticking out and hinting at the chest that laid beneath. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, his shoulders stooped in the same posture he always held when he was about to get a tongue-lashing from me.

I wanted to give him more than a tongue-lashing at that moment. But first, business.

“It’s fine,” I smiled. “But you missed the delivery this morning. I had to unpack it all myself.” I placed a bottle on the bartop and flexed an arm. “Thank goodness I’ve got guns now.”

He smiled at me and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Had his muscles always been that defined? “Sorry, Thea. I’ll do whatever you want to make it up to you.”

The words sent jolts of electricity down my thighs. I felt like I was at the beginning of a bad porn movie. A part of me wanted so badly to ask him, “anything?” and then proceed to have the dirtiest sex humanly possible in the middle of the bar. I was aching for him to ravish me, but my logical brain prevailed. “Stock the bar back then, would you, Roy?”

The night went off more or less without a hitch. We caught a couple underage kids trying to sneak in, but that was normal for a Saturday night. Drinks were spilled, hookups were had, and, as far as I could tell, everyone went home happy. By the time I turned the lights on at 3 AM, we had made a steady profit with no major hiccups. I offered the staff a complimentary drink and complimented them on their good work. My head bartender, Stacy, gave me a tight hug as she finished her appletini, telling me how glad she was that I was returning to work after so much tragedy. For a bartender, Stacy had a real problem holding her liquor. Thankfully, I knew that her girlfriend, an ER nurse, would be picking her up after the night shift.

Slowly but surely, all the staff left the club to return home. All except Roy. He stood impatiently behind the bar as they all filed out, hands in his pockets. He gave me an expectant look once everyone was gone, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“You look like you just got sent to the Principal’s office.” I told him, and his somber face broke into a grin.

“I feel that way.” He laughed. “What’s the punishment for my tardiness tonight?”

He was making me ache again. What was happening? We hadn’t been physically close since the breakup, and I missed having him near me, if only because it felt good to be with another person sometimes. Tables needed to be cleaned, but fuck if I was going to waste the way he looked that night on a rag and a mop.

“Why don’t we go to the office? I’ve got some paperwork that I need help with.” I suggested. He shrugged, but followed me up to the loft that passed for an office space, complete with an ancient desktop computer (with Quickbooks!), a beautiful mahogany desk, and a couple chairs. I sat on the desk, feet dangling a few inches from the ground, my high heels in mid-air. Roy positioned himself in one of the chairs, looking so incredibly innocent and corruptible that I almost felt bad for what I planned to do to him.

Almost.

“What paperwork did you have?” He asked sweetly, his eyes curious and earnest.

I smirked and rolled my eyes. “No paperwork, Roy,” I let his name dangle in the air for a moment, like a spray of perfume. “Just us.”

It was almost funny how quickly he wrapped his arms around my waist and began kissing me. I had forgotten was his kisses were like: fast and feverish, in quick succession as if a kiss was the only thing that would keep him alive. He pushed himself into the space between my legs, trying to get as close to me as possible. His hands were in my hair, on my back, on my thighs, everywhere at once. I moaned as his hands found my breasts through the fabric of my dress. I needed his touch.  
He was saying something. “Please.” He begged with a desperation I had never heard from him. “Thea, please, I need you.”

As much as I loved that shirt on him, it had to go. I carefully unbuttoned it, taking as much time as I could to drag the sensation out. Undressing him was always a fun task, especially when he was this needy. Every extra second I took meant that much more intensity when we had sex. He whimpered when I reached the final button. The t-shirt was much easier to remove, which meant that I needed to get creative. I crept my hands underneath it, feeling his muscles tense with each touch. I found his chest and lightly scratched a nipple, eliciting a noise from somewhere in the back of his throat. I was suddenly filled with the urge to have him inside me right that minute.

“Roy, take off your shirt.” I commanded. He readily complied, throwing the tee somewhere in the far corner of the room. “And your pants.” I added, hopping off of my perch. He shimmied out of his jeans with a speed I didn’t know was humanly possible. He stood in front of me, stark naked, staring at me hungrily. “Chair.” I stated as obtusely as I could, but he understood the sentiment and sat on one of the chairs in the office.

He had a devilish look in his eyes and a smirk on his face that I hoped was reserved only for me. At least, I had only seen it when we were alone together. He was fully erect, his cock jutting out from between his firm thighs and pressed against his taut stomach. I stared at him for a moment, wanting to memorize the way he looked at that exact second. His body was perfect, of course, but the way he stared at me was the icing on the cake. I was filled with an urge to not just fuck him, but destroy him, consume him, enslave him. I reached under my dress to remove my underwear, and stuffed it in the pocket in my dress. I couldn’t explain why, but it seemed like a good idea.

I strutted over to where he sat, trying to look equally seductive and terrifying. He moaned when I straddled him and sat on his lap, his cock teasing me. I planted a kiss on his neck and then, on a whim, decided to bite his shoulder as hard as I could. He shouted, but wrapped his arms around me, pulling my body closer. He slid against my opening and we both cried out at the contact. He was panting in my ear, and I could sense the question before he asked it.

“IUD.” I told him breathlessly. “Still in. Good for another 3 years.”

He groaned and I leaned back to look at his face. I wanted to look into his eyes as he entered me. But he didn’t. We gazed at each other with bated breath, neither daring to move. I muttered his name, and he stroked my cheek, eyes full of wonder. “Tell me what you need.” He whispered.

Who am I to argue with that? “Fuck me. NOW.” I instructed, and he entered me with expert ease. His strong hands held my hips while he slowly bucked into me. “Deeper.” I commanded, and he placed his hands on my lower back, angling my body away from him for deeper penetration. He controlled himself, thrusting gently into me, although I could tell that it required deep concentration.  
“Faster,” I demanded, and he sighed as he increased the speed of his hips, the sound of skin slapping against skin the only accompaniment to our act. I changed my mind. “No, slower,” I stated, “but harder.” He let out a whimper, but pulled my body close to him, our chests touching, as he slowed his pace, concentrating on making each motion go as deep into me as he could. There was such force and power in his body, and it made every movement spine-tinglingly precise.

He was whining, calling out noises that didn’t fit into words. I could tell that he was getting close, but something still wasn’t right for me. I remembered the panties in my pocket. “Roy, do you trust me?” I asked, and he nodded, his eyes squinted as he focused on following my instructions to the tee. I found the underwear and in a movement that I hoped was as smooth as it felt, stuffed them into his mouth, muffling the sounds coming from his lips. I heard a groan, muffled by the cotton, and it was the missing puzzle piece. I grabbed hold of his shoulders and rocked myself against him, clit grinding on his pubic bone in a way that seemed to prove that we fit together perfectly. I whispered his name as I came, and he lost all control of his hips, thrusting faster and faster into me as he spilled inside me.

I collapsed into his shoulder, pressing kisses into the bite mark I had left. His breath slowed to a normal pace and he removed the underwear from his mouth. It was wet with drool, and I felt a surge of power flow through me. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What for?” I asked, stepping off on him and straightening my clothes out. He was flushed and sweaty, my favorite way to see him.

His eyes scanned the room sheepishly. “You told me to go slower and I sped up at the end there.”

I considered his words. “It’s okay.” I replied automatically. “It was just a suggestion.”

He studied me, and I felt very exposed even though he was the naked one. “Was it?”

My eyes squinted as I examined his face. His nostrils flared as he exhaled, and his eyes darted around, avoiding my gaze. “Look at me.” I demanded, and he obeyed. I felt a shiver run down my spine. I liked it when he did what I told him. Something clicked into place. “Roy,” I teased his name out of my lips, “do you like it when I give you orders?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Use your words.” I commanded.

“Yes ma’am.” He stated. Oh, I liked that.

“Do you want to be told what to do?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I tried to suppress a moan, but it slipped out from somewhere in the back of my throat. His eyes were intensely focused on me, begging for something although I couldn’t fully understand what. On instinct, I sat back on my desk and spread my legs. He stared at my cunt with burning, hungry eyes. “Look at my face.” I demanded, and his eyes met mine. I closed my legs, and he let out a whimper.

“I have an idea.” I offered, and he nodded in agreement without even hearing it. “Tell me what you think. The moment you step into Verdant, you are mine. You belong to me. You do as I say. Once you leave, you are free. But inside these walls, you are my slave.”

He groaned, “Yes ma’am.”

I grinned, feeling accomplished. “Tomorrow, you will be five minutes early to help me organize the stockroom. If you are late, you will be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I thought for a minute. Wasn’t there another part to these things? I mentally shuffled through all the smutty paperbacks I had hidden under my bed as a teenager. What was the thing? It hit me, and I scribbled down five letters on the back of a receipt sitting on the desk. I folded it up and handed it to Roy. “This is your safe word,” I explained, “If you need me to stop controlling you at any time, say the safe word and I will do it, no questions asked.”

He nodded. “Thank you.” His shoulders seemed heavy for a moment, and then he added, “This means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” I smirked. Then, spreading my legs, I continued, “now clean me up.”

He eagerly complied, and I wondered how he would react when he read the note I’d given him and saw that his safe word was “Arrow.”


	3. Start Me Up

If I had known that a little domination and a lot of sex would have given Roy the incentive to start arriving at work on time, I would have done it ages ago.

He walked through the front door at 2:55 on Sunday afternoon, exactly five minutes before he was scheduled to show. His hair was freshly combed, eyes clear and bright, a lightness in his normally heavy-footed step. I was cradling a container of bleach wipes under one arm, scouring the bartop from the previous night’s events. The front door slammed, as it always did this early in the day, the sound echoing throughout the open room that served as the main dance floor.

“‘Morning.” He greeted me, raising a cup of coffee on the air. I looked at him expectantly. “Dark roast, almond milk, one raw sugar and one stevia.” He recited.

“Good boy,” I grinned, pursing my lips and giving him a thumbs-up.

His eyes scanned the room expectantly. He wanted something, but couldn’t verbalize it. He looked so helpless, like a lost puppy, and the tiny shred of maternal instinct still in me craved to placate him. But this was not a time to be gentle. I steeled myself and tried to put on my strictest voice. “What do you need, Roy?”

He glanced at me, then turned his eyes to the ground. “Instructions.” He mumbled.

He was going to make this difficult. I was up for the challenge. “Roy.” I hissed, “Look at me when you talk to me. What. Do. You need?” I punctuated the question with a stomp of my thick-heeled boots. I hoped that that was intimidating.

His blue eyes bore into mine and my knees felt weak. “Instructions.”

I glared at him, a growl coming out that I didn’t know was inside me. “I don’t understand you without the proper address. What do you call me?”

Roy whined a little bit, shoving his hands into his pockets. His biceps bulged and I fought my own whimper down. “I need instructions, ma’am.” He stated plainly. Then, as an afterthought, added, “Please.”

I felt heat building between my thighs. I widened my stance, hoping to make myself look strong even though my legs were shaking. I wanted nothing more than to throw him on the ground and take him then and there, but strengthened my will. There was work to be done, and business came before pleasure.

So much pleasure.

I handed him the bleach wipes and picked the coffee out of his hand in a move that I hoped was much smoother than it felt. “Be a dear and finish wiping down the tables.” I commanded, perching myself on the nearest barstool.

He gave a wicked grin and began his work, carefully cleaning the tabletops as I sipped on my beverage. It could have used an extra stevia, but I wasn’t going to harp on details when it came to caffeine. He was doing a fine job, but I soon tired of watching him repeat the same motions.

“Roy,” I called, and he looked at me with an expression somewhere between bashful and ravenous. “Take off your shirt.”

He chuckled and pulled his v-neck over his head. He hadn’t begun sweating yet, but his chest still shone under the fluorescent lights. I made a noise of approval and he returned to the task I had given him. His arms flexed as he cleaned. He circled the perimeter of the table, and I noticed how his back muscles tightened and loosened as he reached back and forth. He moved onto the next table, repeating the same motions. Again I watched him circle the table and sipped on my coffee as I watched his battle-earned body stretch and return. The waistband of his boxers peeked out from the top of his jeans, and I could see the yellow lightning bolts that covered their red background.

“Nice undies, Harper.” I heckled. He glanced at me, smiled, and returned to his work. Then he stopped and looked directly into my eyes for a moment longer than comfortable. I was beginning to get used to that face. He had an idea, a thing he wanted to do, but was waiting on me to give instructions.

I hated how he could read my mind sometimes.

I took a long gulp of my drink, thinking of the best way to phrase my next command. Simple seemed better. “Off with the pants, then.”

If I hadn’t already been so turned on, I would have found the speed at which Roy ripped himself out of his Levi’s hilarious. One second they were perched on his hipbones, the next, they were skidding across the floor towards my feet. I watched them slide to a halt, only then deciding to take in Roy’s half-nudity. I willed myself to look over him slowly, savoring the moment that I was sure would go directly into the Spank Bank.

He had somehow managed to keep his Converses on his feet while taking off his pants, a feat which I could only attribute to months (years?) of changing outfits in an instant. His toes pointed slightly inwards, a self-conscious stance from a man who normally exuded self-esteem. His white socks were pulled up higher than I would have chosen for him, but it made the naked parts of his body seem that much more obscene, knowing that he was covered with as much clothing as I would allow. His strong legs stood firm, militaristic, self-assured. I giggled to myself as I took in the full view of his Flash boxers, slightly tented in the front with a wisp of light brown hair peeking out of the front flap.

Oh goodness, he was already semi-hard. I was not going to be able to hold out for much longer.

The delicate trail of dark blond hair traveling up to his navel was a well-worn path. I clenched my jaw, trying to remember how it felt to weave my fingers in that patch of hair that I was so fond of. His taut stomach fluttered slightly, maybe from nerves or arousal. It was hard to tell in this situation. I noticed that his chest had a darkness to it that was unfamiliar, the same color as the stubble he sometimes grew on his cheeks.

Not thinking, I asked, “Do you wax your chest?”

“Shave.” He responded immediately. On instinct, my gaze switched to his eyes, the normal baby blue tone now darkened with his dilated pupils.

“Don’t.” I moaned, more gutturally that I would have chosen. He grunted in agreement, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable looking him in the eyes. Somehow, it felt too intimate, so I returned my sights to his crotch. In just a few seconds, he had gone from semi-hard to fully erect, and I made a growling noise from the back of my throat.

A new desire made its way through my body, coursing through my bloodstream and making my cheeks flush. “Did I say you could get hard?” I asked in a voice that barely sounded like my own.

Roy looked at the floor. “No, ma’am.”

“Come here.” I hissed, and he made his way to where I sat, the echo of his footsteps somehow obscene in the silence. He stood in front of me and made a motion to put his hands in his pockets, forgetting that he wasn’t wearing pants. I almost felt bad at the awkward flailing moves he made. Almost.

Instead, I grabbed his shoulder and threw him over my lap. His erection pressed into my thigh. I already felt moisture pooling at the head and felt a surge of power. “This is for your own good.” I whispered, a statement that made very little sense to me, but sounded good nonetheless. I let my hand graze his lower back, muscles tensing under my touch. Finally, I tucked my thumb under the waistband of his boxers and lowered them to his thighs.

It really was such a shame that I rarely got to see his bare ass when we had sex. He really had a fantastic butt. Strong, muscular, soft, a little round but not big. As far as men’s asses went, his was pretty much perfect. Hell, I’d say that it would be a great ass for any gender. I made a mental note that I needed to install a mirror in my office so I could stare at it while he pounded into me the next time. The image sent a shiver through my body.

However, I had a task, quite literally, at hand. I gently placed my hand on his butt, then drew just the tips of my fingers up and pressed them back down. He made no movement or sound, so I tested the palm of my hand, keeping my fingertips attached to his skin, but slapping the heel of my hand as hard as I could onto his sensitive skin. That made a clear sound, and I felt his skin heat up just a little bit.

“Did I say you were allowed to get hard?” I whispered.

Roy shook his head. I drew my hand back all the way and brought it down as hard as I could. The smack of skin on skin echoed.

“Answer my question.” I stated with as little emotion as I could. “Did I say you could get hard?”

“No ma’am.” Roy replied. His fingers clenched around the edge of the barstool, steadying his body.

It was now or never. I extended my arm fully and slammed my open palm into his ass. The sound was deafening, and I felt Roy’s whole body groan in response.

“Did I fucking say that you could get hard?” I shouted, repeating the motion.

He whined out through gritted teeth. “No ma’am.” He leaked precum onto my thigh. I was for damn sure not going to let him come like that.

“Sit up.” I demanded, and he righted his body, sitting himself atop my lap. One of my hands grabbed his chin and pulled his face towards mine. The other groped blindly until it found his leaking cock. This wouldn’t take long at all. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

He moaned something that might have been a “yes ma’am.” I gripped his erection with as much strength as I could muster, and he let out a yelp at the pressure. Loosening my fist only a hair, I stroked him without any pretense of care or delicateness. This was punishment for making me so aroused. If he was going to get me all hot and bothered, I was going to make him come whether he wanted to or not.

His fingernails dug into my shoulder as I pumped harder, friction building between my palm and his cock. His stomach began fluttering again, and he tried without much success to stifle a moan as he spurted across my fist. I continued pumping, draining every last drop out of him. His shoulders slumped, and I finally released myself. There was a dishtowel I remembered leaving on the bartop, and I gently pushed Roy off my lap and onto the stool so I could retrieve it to clean myself off. I leaned over the bar and an image popped into my mind.

“Can you stand?” I asked Roy from across the room.

“I think so?” He replied with a question. Adding “ma’am” onto the end for good measure.

“What about kneeling?” I suggested, knowing from experience that he tended to overestimate his energy after he came.

I heard a shuffle of clothing and footsteps and felt his heat perched behind me. “Definitely can kneel.” He confirmed.

I laughed. “Then be a good boy and finish me off, won’t you?”

He paused. “How?” He asked.

Oh, that man was evil. “Reach up my skirt and pull my panties to the side.” I instructed him. If he wanted to play dumb, I could play that game just as well. His strong hands pushed my skirt up past my hips and a thumb moved my underwear to my right, exposing my wetness to the air. I could feel his breath between my thighs.

I needed him inside me. “Put your middle finger in me, Roy.” I demanded. He hungrily complied, his digit quickly filling me. “Add your index finger.” I added. He did as I told. I ground myself onto his hand, eagerly wanting to be fucked. “Press your fingers forward.” I felt the pressure rising inside of me. He was gentle, cautious, letting me guide him on this exact way and I wanted to be penetrated. I was so close, but needed something more to push me over the edge. “Add one more finger,” I commanded, “and lick me. Please.”

My pretense of being in control fell away as he stretched me wider and flattened his tongue against my clit. I found my hand in his hair and grabbed tight, grinding into his face as I came. My entire body shivered when he withdrew his hands from me. I straightened my clothing out and looked at the clock on the wall to see how much time I had to clean up.

Still another half-hour until anyone else showed up. Roy looked at me, eyes wide with anticipation and yet somehow greedy with everything that had just happened. I instructed him to suck his fingers clean, and he looked me dead in the eye while he did as told. Pure evil.

My body began to cool down while I flattened my hair down to what I assumed was its original style. “Roy, get dressed.” I said, taking my seat again. He redressed much more slowly than he had undressed, but I watched the show all the same, sipping on my now-lukewarm coffee and instructing him to finish cleaning before the bar re-opened for the night.


End file.
